


Knee-High Hugs Apply

by Languidly



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Languidly/pseuds/Languidly
Summary: “They appear to have had a mass displacement gun among their knick-knacks.” Megatron said drolly, then hesitated. Rodimus’ optics were still roving in shock over that little gray helm, the stubby black pedes, and the tiny barrel of the tank gun of Megatron’s long-disused alt mode, peeking over his shoulder.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Comments: 36
Kudos: 97





	1. Chapter 1

Megatron’s message came over the command line, clinical and staticky. << I’ve been shot. >>

The comm was so uncharacteristic that Rodimus paused for an entire three nanokliks, letting one of the stout mechanical pirates who’d ambushed them clamber successfully up his thigh plating to throw a wrench at his helm with vindictive force. The repurposed tool narrowly missed an optic, bouncing painfully off a finial instead. “Argh!” 

<< Do you require assistance? >> Ultra Magnus returned. From the corner of his vision, Rodimus could see that his second-in-command was being swarmed himself, pelted with all manner of weaponry - what looked like various sizes of cogs, empty containers, even rusty halves of a steel beam. There were at least six different types of gunfire going down as well, no doubt from whichever species the pirates had pilfered from before.

After the distress call that had sent the Lost Light careening down onto the planet, Ultra Magnus had volunteered to investigate the origin of the signal. But they hadn’t had any other stopovers in the last three deca-cycles, and the itch under Rodimus’ plating had been steadily expanding into a full-body judder. He’d announced an impromptu shore leave over the shipwide intercom before Ultra Magnus could stop him. Sadly, the environment hadn’t looked very appealing - reddish iron crags looming around the landscape under the sweltering greenish haze of a too-close, burning star, and not a peep of any other life around - only Megatron, Cyclonus, Tailgate and Whirl had elected to disembark with them.

They had scattered in different directions, Tailgate chattering excitedly about adding yet another exploratory notch to the universe he had never gotten to traverse (although this was technically not their original universe to begin with). It had been almost an entire vorn now since their victory lap and the mad, brilliant idea of hurtling themselves into a parallel continuum to continue their adventures. 

Rodimus could still sometimes hardly believe that it had _worked_.

As he’d stretched and prepared to transform, to take a few laps around and shake off the cold inertia of being so long in space, Rodimus had stolen a glance at the imposing back of his co-captain, a wobbly silhouette in the humid heat. 

In very recent stellar cycles, the grudging respect and friendship between them had warmed into something that felt rather tentatively like... _well_. Rodimus was not going to be the one to put a name to it. But if their lighthearted bickering was now increasingly accompanied by small smiles and fleeting glances, and if Megatron had stopped looking startled whenever their hands brushed as they pored over their star-map in the control room or fueled together in the captains’ booth in Swerve’s bar, that was...nice.

Drift had already pointedly remarked, on several occasions, that Rodimus could do with a little introspection on Certain Feelings - his best friend had caught him contemplatively eyeing a few unlikely datapads on poetry perhaps just one too many times. 

He’d been shaken out of his useless musing when Whirl had raced back around the edge of the particular crag that he, Cyclonus and Tailgate had disappeared behind a scant breem ago. He had the minibot clutched under one arm - they were both yelling something, Whirl with manic glee and Tailgate with wide, panicked motions. Then Cyclonus had brought up the rear, fending off what looked like a thousand half-sized mechs, as dusty and red as the land around them, erupting with ferocious and cacophonous noise into the dimming light. 

It didn’t take much to deduce that the ‘distress call’ had been engineered to lure nearby ships to the planetoid to be forcibly dismantled for fuel and parts, after that.

<< I appear to have been somewhat compromised. >> Megatron sent at last. His glyphs were as neutral as ever, but there was something so unusually discomfited about the message that it was hard not to feel concern. Rodimus spun about in a full circle, effectively shaking off his wrench-thrower in the process. He couldn’t spot Megatron, and it made his fuel tank squeeze a little. << Where are you? >> he sent bluntly, firing off two more blaster shots. << We need to retreat, stat! It’s just us now! >> Whirl had reached the ship and was in the process of throwing both Tailgate and himself back on board. Cyclonus followed at a more stately pace, holding off the attacks on the lowered gangway of the ship with grim determination.

There was a heavy silence for a nanoklik, punctuated only by Ultra Magnus’ efficient flattening of the circle of pirates around him before the large mech answered << Acknowledged. >>

Coordinates pinged onto Rodimus’ HUD, a red blip on the simplistic rendering of the landscape that his terrain-programming had automatically generated earlier. << I am closest to your location, Rodimus. I am...moving towards the ship as well, but might require some aid. >>

Rodimus’ spoiler twitched. Megatron was a big, powerful mech. He was still sending messages in that annoyingly calm manner of his (not that he spoke any differently when half of his frame was ripped off, but those days were hopefully long past). There was nothing to worry about. 

He took off running towards the coordinates, noting distractedly that the blip _was_ moving, but at such an arduously incremental pace that he had to double-check it wasn’t stationary. 

Ultra Magnus thundered towards him from behind. << Covering your retreat, Captain. Advise when clear. >>

Rodimus flung a thumbs up in the general vicinity of his SIC as he reached the coordinates. No visible warlord in the gloom. Impatiently, he switched on his headlights, scanning the area wildly. << Megs, where are you? I’m here, and I don’t see- >> his glyphs crackled off disbelievingly as small, red optics gleamed at him from below. 

From the general vicinity of his knees, to be precise.

“They appear to have had a mass displacement gun among their knick-knacks.” Megatron said drolly, then hesitated. Rodimus’ optics were still roving in shock over that little gray helm, the stubby black pedes, and the tiny barrel of the tank gun of Megatron’s long-disused alt mode, peeking over his shoulder. There was a rather hysterical urge fighting itself free, and Rodimus didn’t think he could keep it down for much longer even with the reproving look turned on him from below. 

<< Hurry! >> Drift commed from the bridge, sharp and urgent. << We’re ready to take-off once you’re all back on board! >>

Ultra Magnus fired, flashes of light in the swallowing dark. << Captain? >>

Very, very reluctantly, Megatron raised his arms, just as several pirates launched themselves with a rallying cry at their backs.

Rodimus bent and scooped Megatron up, flinging off the two who had managed to grab ahold of his spoiler. His blaster shook in his free hand, and his vision was starting to blur-

“Focus,” Megatron scolded, small black hands clutching at the yellow ridges of Rodimus’ chestplates to hold himself steady as the flame-red mech leapt over another screaming group of pirates. They were almost back to the Lost Light now. << Ultra Magnus, we’re clear. Fall back. >>

Rodimus hurled himself towards the gangway, which was being raised even as they charged towards it. He jumped, tucking Megatron tightly against him as he landed with a thump and rolled, barely avoiding a collision with Ultra Magnus as the larger mech landed roughly with a similar jarring impact. The quantum engines revved, the ship lifting easily into the air, and the screeching of the pirates from below faded as the gangway closed completely. Ultra Magnus was already righting himself with a frown, looking down at Rodimus who stayed curled on the floor, frame beginning to shake.

“Where’s Megatron?” Ultra Magnus asked, peering about the dock as though his other captain had somehow camouflaged himself against a wall. “He said you were both clear- ” and then he caught sight of the bundle in Rodimus’ arms as Rodimus sat up, laughing so hard that light streamed in a blinding flare from his optics. 

“I presume Brainstorm will have a fix for this,” Megatron said stiffly, attempting and completely failing to disengage himself from Rodimus’ unyielding grip around his miniaturized frame. The once-used pistons in Ultra Magnus’ own mouth were starting to feel decidedly warm at the sight.

Rodimus was thumping his other hand on the ground as he chortled, vents pouring hot air. His vocalizer appeared to have locked up, emitting only the barest of squeaks. 

“Yes, Captain,” Ultra Magnus managed to say. “I am sure he will be able to come up with something.”

He left as quickly as he could before his own dignity could be tested.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? No one was interested in a wee-high Megatron scuttling around the Lost Light with dangers lurking around every corner?
> 
> I know Megatron can mass-displace in several continuities - however, I don't recall him transforming during MTMTE/Lost Light, so I'm going with the idea that his current frame doesn't support that kind of compression.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia said, "Here, have more crack."

“...do you plan to put me down at some point?” Megatron asked quietly.

Rodimus looked down at the top of the little gray helm, but Megatron was carefully avoiding his glance, though one black hand still clung to the edge of his chestplate for balance. The former warlord sat cradled in the crook of Rodimus’ left arm, his frame pressed unerringly over the pulse of Rodimus’ spark. Primus, but to see a Megatron even smaller than Minimus, complete with Megatron’s usual gravitas...it was hilarious, to be sure, but it was also making Rodimus feel oddly disinclined to put his co-captain down. He tightened his hold in wordless reply.

They had finally made it out of the loading bay after Rodimus had contained himself long enough to stand. At first, Megatron had suggested that he could walk on his own, even if it took him much more effort to match Rodimus’ stride (seven and a half steps for every one of his, Rodimus counted silently, though the relentless hiccuping of his vents made it hard to concentrate). 

But then they had made it to the elevator where he’d watched, almost paralyzed, as Megatron tried to reach the right buttons - and failed. Rodimus’ hydraulics had just about given out. His HUD had flickered on and off with the exertion of trying not to throw himself into the wall with the full howling degree of his mirth. After a moment, he’d managed to shakily pick Megatron up with nothing but a muttered grumble for his trouble. 

“I can tell that your helm is about to explode,” Megatron said peevishly. “Restrain yourself. And take me to Brainstorm’s lab at once.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” his optics were starting to leak light again. “Right away, sir.”

Megatron sighed. 

The elevator doors opened to a full, milling mass of tightly-packed crew. Rodimus automatically took one step back in surprise, free hand coming up to curl protectively around Megatron’s helm before he could think twice about it. 

“He’s _adorable_ ,” Whirl said, aghast.

“Well- yes,” Rodimus responded, before his processor could catch up with his mouth. “Stop that!” he snapped as Swerve bounced excitedly forward, arms already outstretched, visor shining. “I am not passing him around!”

“ _He_ is still captain of this ship, and very much of sound mind despite any appearance to the contrary,” Megatron said sternly from behind Rodimus’ hand, though the usual effect was significantly reduced considering the current size of his vocalizer. That deep rumbling bass had lightened into a fairly tinny sound. “I assure everyone that any liberties taken with my person will be remembered and duly acknowledged once I am returned to normal.”

“He’s adorable!” Whirl repeated accusingly, as if Megatron hadn’t spoken. He raised one claw, making to bunt Rodimus’ shielding hand away. The action was curiously gentle. Swerve reached up to try once more, lips pursed in concentration. Megatron’s EM field flared with a tinge of distress.

“Everyone, hands off!” Rodimus barked, twisting to sidestep the prodding limb and ducking around Swerve at the same time. “Go find your own! Shoo!”

“Find our own fun-sized Megatron?” Rewind asked doubtfully, a curious tilt to his helm. “Where?” There was the distinctive click of an image capture as Rodimus squeezed past the grasping throng, and he turned to throw a glare back. Rewind held up both hands placatingly. “It’s just for posterity’s sake!”

“I- ” Megatron started, and then gave up, resigned, slumping against Rodimus’ frame. 

Concern - and some guilty sympathy - trickled in like a cold stream of solvent around Rodimus’ spark. He clutched Megatron tightly to himself with one arm, other hand flexing to carefully cover as much of his co-captain from view as possible.

“Okay, folks, seriously. Clear the way,” he instructed, injecting all the authority he could muster. “We’ve got to get to Brainstorm, and Megatron is going to be just fine. And bitterly vengeful, whenever he gets back to being _super_ fun-sized. Go on, get back to whatever you were supposed to be doing, all of you!”

The gathered crowd dispersed unenthusiastically with more than a few protests. Megatron’s field eased. He vented once, and the little puff of air against Rodimus’ Autobrand sent a happy curl up Rodimus’ backstrut. With a lighter step, he made his way down the corridor towards Brainstorm’s lab, absentmindedly stroking Megatron’s helm.

“Rodimus,” Megatron’s voice was faint, and a little wary. “What are you doing?”

His fingers froze mid-pet. “Uh. Nothing?”

Megatron had withdrawn his field - it was impossible to read. “I am not any different than I was before,” he said tightly, as Rodimus valiantly fought down the urge to point out some _very_ obvious differences. “But I suppose I should have known that the crew would not be able to resist this opportunity to take their shot.”

Rodimus peered down at the despondent little face. Yes, there was no doubt that it was Megatron, in all his sullen stoicism. But there was simply something about being able to hold his co-captain against his chassis this way that removed so many of the reservations that Rodimus had had before.

“You know they’re only doing that because you’re, um, particularly endearing in this size, right? They don’t mean anything bad by it. Hey, even _Whirl_ seems to want to adopt you. All old grudges cast aside! I believe Ultra Magnus would classify that as ‘positive development’.”

“He said I was adorable,” Megatron intoned dully. “No one in my entire functioning has ever referred to me as such. It’s _me_ , Rodimus. Renowned for my brutality in battle. The deaths of a million sparks to my name.”

“I’m sure none of them have forgotten,” Rodimus said reassuringly, though he wasn’t actually sure. It really _was_ challenging to reconcile the devastating, dangerous image of the former Decepticon leader with this handful of mech. “Anyway, it’s not like they were still scared of you before this, huh? We’ve been a family on the Lost Light for how long now?”

Megatron fell silent.

They arrived at Brainstorm’s lab. Rodimus debated very briefly the wisdom of holding Megatron up to the access panel before deciding against the future retribution that would surely entail. He shifted Megatron against him more snugly instead, then input his own override codes.

The door slid open and suddenly Rodimus’ arms were empty. “Brainstorm!” he screeched, darting after the scientist who’d swooped in and snatched Megatron from him. Megatron flailed from where he was cupped in Brainstorm’s hands, composure rattled for only a moment before he snarled, “I _will_ shoot you..!”

“This degree of mass displacement is fascinating,” Brainstorm breathed. He bounced the miniaturized frame experimentally up and down as Megatron sputtered in outrage, grasping wretchedly at the scientist’s fingers. “It appears that everything from processor module to spark casing has been shrunk down in proportion, instead of just the frame as I always imagined. I’ll have to run some scans to be sure. Basic and higher functioning still seem to be completely in order. Oh, imagine if we were all this size - we’d be able to run on our current stores of energon for ten times longer!”

Megatron’s faceplates paled a little at the suggestion, though he still managed to straighten and pull himself up to a standing position, bracing himself on Brainstorm’s thumbs. “You will revert me to my original form as soon as possible,” he ordered severely, voice only barely wobbling. His gyroscopes were probably still spinning. “This instant, preferably. I seem to recall you had a mass displacer in here somewhere.”

Brainstorm clucked behind his mask. “Now that you mention it, I did have one some time ago. But eh, not anymore.”

Megatron’s vents sounded abnormally loud. “And how long would it take for you to _have one_ again?”

The scientist shrugged. “Have to see if I’ve still got supplies. I repurposed some of the material to build those fancy guns that Whirl’s been twirling around, you know. But if I could get everything I need, and if I was forced to put all my other projects on hold, I’d say a few days, give or take.” He turned the miserable ball in his hands this way and that, as if contemplating bouncing Megatron again.

Rodimus glared at Brainstorm and held out his arms, beckoning. “Noted. Yes, prioritize the mass displacer. Get Whirl’s guns from him and break them down if you have to. Now _give him back_.”

“He could stay here while I get started,” Brainstorm offered. “I can run the scans while I do a quick inventory.”

“ _He_ is right here,” Megatron growled despairingly. 

But as he spoke, the little gray helm turned a fraction towards Rodimus. That was all the permission Rodimus needed. He sprang forward, plucking his co-captain from Brainstorm’s hold triumphantly as the scientist scrabbled, too late, for a dangling pede.

“Fine,” Brainstorm huffed. “He can do the scans when I’ve got the equipment ready. In the meantime, you’ll want to make sure nobody steps on him by accident. The size of his EM field appears to be drastically reduced, which means it’ll be hard to notice him even when he’s directly underfoot. Oh, but that could be a particularly useful quality to take into account if we were to build more advanced stealth mods!” he turned, tapping furiously into one of the many datapads scattered on the desk.

“Right,” Rodimus took one step back, then two. He settled Megatron in the crook of his arm again before turning towards the door, petting the discouraged little curve of backstrut absentmindedly. “Comm us with daily updates then. Understood?”

Brainstorm waved them off with a distracted mutter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Work has been pretty stressful and political recently. So I cheered myself up with this.

They reached Megatron’s habsuite before the obvious problem dawned. 

Rodimus slanted a glance down. Megatron had been silent ever since they’d left Brainstorm’s lab. Luckily, they hadn’t run into anyone else on their way to the level of the living quarters, but now a very real dilemma was presenting itself.

Just as Rodimus decided he would risk holding Megatron under his arms to lift him forward to the access panel, Megatron said, evenly, “I suppose I won’t be able to enter or exit without assistance.” The scowl that accompanied the statement was equal parts irritated and morose. “Just leave me on the bridge, Rodimus. I’m sure I can find something productive to do while making sure that no one steps on me. By accident or on purpose.”

Rodimus thought of the size of the captains’ chairs on the bridge, the height of every operating console, and barely gulped down a snort in time. “There’s nowhere to recharge on the bridge,” he eked out instead, though it came out a little high-pitched - his vocalizer was working overtime with the effort not to laugh.

He really, really wanted to laugh.

But then Megatron would probably not react well to what he was going to say next. And even if it wasn’t how Rodimus had imagined asking Megatron to come over for the first time, necessity - and duty, of course - outweighed his own off-track fantasies. “Stay with me tonight,” he said as firmly as he could instead, turning away from Megatron’s door. “I’ll keep you safe. Captain’s guarantee.”

“There’s no such thing,” Megatron muttered, but his body lost some of its disgruntled stiffness. “I will not be _nannied_.” He tossed his little helm and glowered upwards, which was when Rodimus noticed he’d unthinkingly started petting Megatron again. He grinned sheepishly and let his hand fall away. 

“Okay. No nannying. No actively trying to nanny, at least. It’s just, you’re so- ”

“If you say ‘adorable’, we will not speak again until this is over.”

“- adora...pealing. _Appealing_. Not that you’re not also appealing when you’re normal, and weirdly attractive when you’re doing your looming thing, but- it’s nice to feel like I can, uh, take care of you, you know?”

Megatron stared up at him. Rodimus abruptly revised everything he’d uttered in his processor and realized he might have said just a bit too much. “I mean- ”

“You’re always doing that anyway,” Megatron huffed. “You’ve saved me even when I didn’t ask for saving.”

“Wow. Ungrateful much? I should take away one of your stars for that. How about the one for Best Behavior?”

Megatron looked away, but there was the very barest trace of a smile tugging at his mouth. It made Rodimus’ spark feel a little warm.

They arrived at his own habsuite without further incident. As the door slid shut behind them, he looked around, at a bit of a loss as to where to put Megatron and what to do first. 

“May I- ” Megatron hesitated, “- use the washrack? I would prefer not to repay your generosity with a trail of iron particles all over your quarters.” 

“Oh!” Rodimus hadn’t even noticed the rust-colored dirt tracking from their armor, leftovers from their earlier battle - he was probably leaving much more around than Megatron, in any case. This wasn’t exactly the way he had imagined being in the same washracks together for the first time, but at least it was a perfectly legitimate reason and not something he had had to invent a terrible excuse for. “Yea, of course, I’ve got some clogging up my gears too.”

His washrack wasn’t exactly spacious - having it en-suite was already more luxurious than the common facilities that the rest of the crew used - but it was more than enough for them both with Megatron in his current size. Rodimus set his co-captain down a little awkwardly before reaching up to switch on the heated air-bursts that would blast the dirt and grime from their frames.

Of course, he hadn’t accounted for the fact that Megatron weighed about as much as a bag of datapads now. It happened as if in slow-motion.

The _whoosh_ of hot air slammed into them and Megatron went flying back. He hit the wall with a painful-sounding thump and a very uncharacteristic surprised gasp, and barely had a moment to fall to his knees before the next blast of hot air caught him again, sweeping him up and pinning him back. Numb with incredulous horror, Rodimus didn’t even think. He dove to the ground, arms coming up instantly to shelter Megatron bodily against the next blast. 

“Megs? Megs! You alright? Did you hit your helm?” 

Vaguely, he was aware of a miniaturized weapons system audibly cycling up to readiness. But instead of the usual heavy flattening feeling that the sound usually inspired, all that permeated Rodimus’ processor now was a distracted thought of possibly having to fix a small hole in the wall of his cleaning rack.

Megatron’s lips twisted. The hum of his defense mechanisms powered down. He shook a little as he picked himself up, and Rodimus was abruptly tense - was Megatron hurt? Upset? Angry? 

Then Megatron raised one small hand to Rodimus’ arm, and there was a sound like a gulp. It was so unfamiliar that it took Rodimus almost half a klik to realize that Megatron was _laughing_. His vents were quick and shallow, and those red optics were beginning to glow suspiciously brightly.

“I have never- never- ” he said, choked, and then he shook his head and snorted again, hand still on Rodimus’ plating, and slag if it didn’t make his worry evaporate, to be replaced with that indefinable warmth once more.

“Come on,” he said, gathering Megatron into his arms carefully. He glanced over the back of the little helm surreptitiously just to make sure there hadn’t been denting, but there didn’t seem to be any visible damage. With Megatron cradled securely, he walked backwards to keep his frame between the cleaning blasts and the smaller mech, and then he fumbled blindly backwards with one hand to switch off the hot air. 

“I must admit,” Megatron said at last, his voice gravelly with his own amusement, “Even in previous frames where I could transform into a weapon, I don’t ever recall being _blown into a wall_.”

Rodimus grinned down at him, but a disquieting thread of worry was still circling in his processor. “You sure you’re fine? I know that bucket helm is pretty thick, but right now it’s also pretty small.”

Megatron shot him a look that was half-exasperated and half-almost fond. This close, Rodimus could feel the faint EM field, unfurling with something wry and...soothing? “I’m fine, Rodimus. Perhaps you can give me some solvent wipes to work with instead.”

“Yea. I think I’ve got some.” He shifted Megatron to a hip and marched out, wondering where he had left them. 

After fifteen kliks of peering into the various drawers and boxes that he had scattered around the place, Megatron cleared his intake.

“You... _can_ put me down while you search. Or comm the medbay for some extra wipes if you don’t have them.”

He stopped dead. Primus. The slight weight and warmth of Megatron against him, the barest traces of the usually-overwhelming EM field that had become all but as familiar as his own...he’d been stepping up on the tips of his pedes, bending down and squinting into untidied corners, doing an obstacle course around his entire habsuite with Megatron practically _tucked under his chin_.

“You should have said something sooner!” he blurted out, flustered. His hands suddenly felt too warm.

He eased Megatron away from him, near tripping over himself to let his co-captain down gently onto the recharge slab and thankfully, finally spying the tin of solvent wipes parked behind a low stack of datapads at the same time. He leaned forward and plucked it from its hiding place, shaking the tin to make sure it wasn’t empty before proffering it. Megatron accepted the wipes with a nod, but when Rodimus continued to stand there, slowly looked up at him.

“You may go back to your own washing, Rodimus. Unless you were planning to...watch me wipe myself down?”

Heat flooded Rodimus’ faceplates instantly - not least because he realized he _had_ unconsciously been intending to do precisely that. “Just wanted to make sure you could open the tin by yourself!” he blustered, and then fled.


End file.
